


don't wait or say a single vow

by 152glasslippers



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne breaks up Jaime and Cersei's wedding, F/M, Jaime and Cersei are not related, Song fic, a mix of our world and Westeros as it suits me, no i am not sorry, that's not a spoiler that's literally the whole plot, yes the song is Speak Now by Taylor Swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26365699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/152glasslippers/pseuds/152glasslippers
Summary: I am not the kind of girlwho should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasionbut you are not the kind of boywho should be marrying the wrong girl
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 17
Kudos: 104





	don't wait or say a single vow

“He’s getting married today.”

“I know.”

“Jaime. Is getting married. Today.”

“Yes, so you’ve said.”

Sansa gapes at her from across her kitchen.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

Brienne yanks the faucet on, lets the sound of the water splashing into the kettle buy her time. Sets it on the stove with a heavy clunk and a heavier sigh.

“Nothing.”

She turns the knob under the burner, waits for the gas to light and counts down in her head. _Three, two, one_.

“What do you _mean_ nothing?!” Sansa shrieks, the shrill pitch completely at odds with her icy blue glare.

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon. The wedding starts in an hour. What do you expect me to do?”

“Go! Tell him not to marry her.”

Brienne’s brain stutters and her throat works over words she can’t force out.

“I—Look at me.” Brienne throws out her arms. “I can’t go to a wedding.” Her white button-down and soft, worn jeans fit her well, tailored perfectly to her long limbs by Sansa’s expert hands, but they’re hardly wedding attire. Especially when the wedding in question is a black-tie event. “Technically, I was uninvited,” she protests weakly.

Sansa levels her a flat stare.

“Brienne. I love you, but I’m suggesting you break up a wedding at the last minute. Showing up in jeans without an invitation would be the least of your social transgressions.”

Brienne swallows down a wave of anxiety.

“I can’t.”

“You have to. He loves you.”

Brienne looks down at the floor, her vision blurring. “You don’t know that,” she whispers.

“Do you love him?”

A single tear lands on her left shoe.

“Yes.”

“Then you have to tell him. You can’t let this be your story. You can’t let him marry the wrong girl.” She watches Sansa’s feet cross the kitchen tile, squeezes her eyes shut against the tears when she feels Sansa grip her hand where it rests on the counter. “You can’t resign yourself to a lifetime of unhappiness.”

“It’s too late.”

“No.” Sansa shakes her head. “It’s not. But it will be.”

The tea kettle whistles on the stove next to them. Sansa reaches over and turns off the heat. 

“Time’s up,” she says. “What’ll it be?”

***

The Sept of Baelor is enormous. An entire city block and five stories tall, it looms over the rest of the historic district.

Brienne has no plan and no idea where she’s going.

It’s a miracle she doesn’t crash her car. Her hands are shaking so badly, she can barely get the keys out of the ignition. She circles the block on foot, away from the main entrance crowded with guests stepping out of limousines and security checking names off of lists. One of the Seven must be looking out for her because she stumbles across a small courtyard, with a fence she can hop and an emergency exit propped open. She slips inside and finds herself in the main house of worship.

It’s an enormous space, not nearly as full as she expected. She counts at least a dozen empty rows between her and the rest of the guests, and at least twice that many behind her. Then again, it’s not all that surprising. It’s the Lannister way to put on a spectacle and then deny access to all but the elite of the elite.

She creeps along the wall, pressed as deeply into the shadows as she can, and takes a seat on the groom’s side, behind a wide stone column. All the most prominent and powerful Westerosi families are here—Baratheons, Boltons, Tullys, Martells, Tyrells. Brienne spots Margaery sitting with her grandmother and has just enough time to wonder whether Sansa has texted her and warned her what Brienne plans to do, when a door to the right of the altar opens and Jaime appears, the septon and Tyrion with him, and it’s difficult to breathe.

He is devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo. The line of his back, the square of his shoulders, are so familiar to her. He’s too far away for her to see the look on his face, but she imagines his jaw set, his eyes calm, almost empty. The way they always are when he’s trying to mask what he’s feeling.

Cersei must be somewhere in another room, barking orders at her bridesmaids while they fuss with the folds of her gown and pinch and pluck her veil into place.

Brienne could go to him now, pull him aside. She’d still make a scene, but a smaller one. She could make up an excuse to draw him away. He could talk to Cersei before she walks down the aisle.

The minutes tick by with the beats of her heart. She stays frozen in her seat.

The organ starts to play.

Cersei appears at the back of the sept, otherworldly and beautiful. Her veil nearly reaches the floor, and ten feet of train sweeps down the aisle behind her. Brienne’s stomach sinks with each step of her procession. She wishes she could see the look on Jaime’s face, the grim line of his mouth, the determination in his eyes, certain it would tell her everything she needs to know. One look, and she’d find the courage.

Cersei reaches the altar. There’s a rushing in Brienne’s ears. The septon makes his introductory remarks.

_This is it._

He says the words. “Should anyone present here know of any reason…”

_You’ll lose him forever._

“…why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony…”

_Do it. Do it now._

“…speak now or forever hold your peace.”

_Say something. Say something say something say something say something—_

“Wait!”

Her voice rings out in the sept, echoing off the marble floors, ricocheting between stained glass windows. The guests look around wildly. She’s so well hidden, tucked away in her corner, no one can tell where her shout originated.

_Shit shit shit._

Brienne takes a deep breath and gets to her feet. Steps out from behind the column. Another step. Two steps. She’s halfway down the row. She’s standing in the aisle.

Every single person is staring at her, every single body twisted her way. She can feel it, the focus of three hundred pairs of eyes, boring into her skin. She doesn’t see any of them. She only sees Jaime.

She walks toward him, following in Cersei’s footsteps, and in her mind, the differences between them are finally, finally clear.

Cersei is stunning. Ruthlessly elegant. Cuttingly witty. Refined, delicate. Sharp. Cruel.

Brienne is big. And plain. Too much and not enough. Too tall, too strong. Not pretty enough, not feminine enough. Too much principle, not enough charm. Too sensitive, too innocent, too kind.

But she loves Jaime. She will always love him. She would never hurt him, and she would never use him.

No one could love him better.

She stops three rows back from the altar. She can’t make her feet move any farther. It’s the longest walk of her life.

Jaime hasn’t taken his eyes off of her. Whatever mask he may or may not have been wearing is long gone. He is broken open. Fear, hope, and longing bleeding out of him. Like he could cry for seeing her. Like he might crumble at her words.

“I know this is all wrong,” she tells him. Speaking only to him. “This isn’t like me. I couldn’t have picked a worse time. I shouldn’t be doing this like this.” She takes a deep breath. “But neither should you.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper but the silence in the sept carries her plea straight to him.

“Don’t do this. Don’t say yes. Leave now.”

Her mouth trembles. She feels the tears slide down her cheeks.

“I can’t save you. You have to save yourself. I love you.” The last three words are inaudible, but she knows he hears them anyway. “Don’t do this. Please.”

Jaime is frozen. Brienne is frozen. They are the only two people in a crowded room, locked in a moment suspended in time. He doesn’t make a move. He doesn’t make a sound.

She runs.

***

She takes refuge in the courtyard.

There’s a bench underneath a blossom tree, and the stone is cold against the backs of her thighs when she sits down. She’s breathing hard, panic and hysteria and astonishment a potent mix in her chest. She curls her fingers around the edge of the bench, digging her palms into the coarse surface, trying to ground herself.

She interrupted a wedding. Jaime’s wedding. She asked him to call off his _wedding_.

It is simultaneously the most horrifying and the most daring thing she’s ever done.

It takes her five minutes to steady her breathing. Another five for her to realize she never told Jaime she’d be waiting. He doesn’t know to look for her. He doesn’t know _where_ to look for her.

Fifteen minutes, and she isn’t worried. She’ll sit there as long as it takes.

Thirty minutes, and she feels the creeping beginnings of doubt.

Fifty minutes, and she decides she’s never leaving. She can never face the world after this.

An hour and twenty minutes, and Brienne gives in. Buries her face in her hands and starts crying. Accepts the cold, hard truth. It really was too late.

“Hey, Stargirl.”

Her breath hitches at the old nickname. She must have imagined it. It can’t be real.

She lifts her head, and there he is.

Smiling down at her, the light in his eyes unburdened and unguarded. He’s changed out of his tux, traded it for an old pair of jeans and a faded gray t-shirt. He’s perfect.

“Jaime.”

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised to see me,” he teases. “You just very publicly and very dramatically begged me not to get married.”

She blushes.

“I know. I’m sor—”

“Don’t.” His eyes sharpen, his tone deadly serious. “Don’t you dare.”

Jaime takes the last step forward and closes the distance between them, crouches down in front of her and brings his hand to her face, wipes away a lingering tear with his thumb.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she admits. She feels ashamed now for thinking it, but Jaime doesn’t seem bothered by her confession.

“I know,” he says gently. He tucks her hair behind her ear. “I told Cersei I couldn’t marry her as soon as you left, but she didn’t go down without a fight. Neither did Tywin.” He flashes her a wry smile, but it disappears just as quickly. “I love you, too.”

The answer he couldn’t give her in the sept.

He leans up and presses his lips to hers. A soft kiss, a solemn vow, and she understands. He couldn’t say it until he was free.

He loses his balance on the balls of his feet, tipping forward, and she catches him, her hands on his shoulder, on his hip, and he deepens their kiss. A slow burning, a declaration of intent, a promise of more. Much more. When they break away, he rests his forehead against hers, his breath panting across her lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“You said you couldn’t save me. But you did.”

Brienne pulls back so she can see him, and she’s shocked to recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the way he’s always looked at her. Except now she knows what it means.

She kisses him again, just because she can. Because he loves her. Because she could have lost him, but she didn’t. Because she was brave, but he was, too.

Jaime tugs her to her feet, still kissing her, and laces his fingers with hers.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she says when she can breathe again.

“Don’t be.” He lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist and leads her out of the courtyard. “You were just in time.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then they lived happily ever after kthx for reading bye
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://152glasslippers.tumblr.com/)


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